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Lost Brother
"Jaller!" The messenger strode into the inn, calling, "Jaller! You there? Damian's missing!" A human at the far end of the inn sat bolt upright in his chair, his knife clattering to the table as he said, "He's what?" "Your brother, Damian," said the messenger. "I've come to tell you that he's gone missing along with everyone else at Andorhal." Jaller got up from the table where he'd been eating. "I'm going after him," he said. "Just as soon as I can find a group who'll help me get there." "That'll be hard," said the messenger. "No one wants to go there with all the rumors floating around." "I don't care about gnolls," said Jaller, loading his possessions into a bag. "Worse than gnolls," said the messenger. "They say it's ghosts, or even living dead—" "I don't care about any of this!" Jaller bit out. "I'm going after him, and I'll find someone else who'll take me there!" Ten days after Jaller had slammed the door in the messenger's face, he wasn't as sure that there was someone else who was interesting in going up to Andorhal. Everyone was scared of the rumors. Everyone, it seemed, except for the few men and women who were setting up a caravan draped in dark red cloth and were very definitely trying to leave New Stormwind. "I don't know why this is taking so long!" complained a young man in the group. "If we don't get there soon enough, the undead might claim Andorhal before we can assist the Scarlet Crusade in taking it back!" "Stow it, Brack," said a large and annoyed-looking one with a Kul Tiran accent. "We'll get there in good time, and we'll need to take all these supplies with us if we want to survive the delays on the way." Leaning a bit closer to the other man for effect, he said in a mocking tone, "Wouldn't want the gnolls to get us, would we?" Brack sighed. "I suppose you're right, Andris," he said. "But please hurry up. Some of us have personal stakes in this, you know." "Myself included," Jaller added in. Andris turned to Jaller with a scowl. "What do you want?" he said. "I want to join your group," said Jaller. "I've been searching for someone who'll willingly go to Andorhal, and so far, you're the first ones in ten days." "So you'll help us against the undead?" piped up Brack. "Sure thing," said Jaller. "After I find out what's happened to my brother there, I might as well help you out wherever we turn up." "Well, get in," said Andris. "There's enough room in the caravan for a couple of horses, so you should probably fit." As it turned out, the amount of space in the caravan was an exaggeration, but it was sufficient for the long trek through Khaz Modan towards Andorhal, a trek that Brack never ceased to complain about. Brack's complaining wasn't the worst of their troubles, though. Partway through the Alterac Mountains, the caravan was attacked. Brack threw some balls of flame at the attackers while some of the others fought with their axes and swords, but at the end of the day, the caravan was a wreck, and the group had to drag it on foot. The tempers of the group's members were not improved as a result. "This is so tedious!" complained Brack one night as the group cooked dinner around a campfire. "At this rate, we'll never reach Alterac before something else shows up and destroys us!" "Yeah, we always have to watch out for the gnolls," added Jaller. "Oh, you be quiet," said Andris. "When we got attacked by the gnolls, you were no help! If you'd done something more than swing your axe and nearly lop my head off, the caravan might still be around!" "If you'd made preparations, maybe the gnolls wouldn't have gotten us," suggested Jaller in a deadpan monotone. "Says the one who's only here for his own ulterior motives!" said Andris, barely not yelling. "Well, you only want to get Andorhal back from the undead, and we've seen none," said Jaller. "Look, there's Andorhal on the horizon, a couple of days away at our current speed. No undead, see?" Andris squinted. "Well, there's something over there," he said. "Why don't you go check it out? If there are no undead, it shouldn't be a problem, should it? Not like if it were a gnoll, of course…" Jaller sighed as he got up. "Consider it done," he said. As it turned out, things weren't quite as bad as Jaller had expected, since it appeared that Jaller was peculiarly good at not getting attacked by large, vicious animals. That, or they were all asleep. Jaller wasn't sure what the facts were, but he was grateful not to have been attacked. So grateful, in fact, that he nearly stumbled into the source of the movement. Jaller quickly ducked behind a tree to assess his quarry. It was an undead like the others had described, and the undead was paying attention to sorting some lumber and so couldn't see Jaller, giving Jaller time to inspect the undead. Looking hard at him, something looked very familiar about the undead: upon close inspection, it turned out to be a pocket-watch hanging by the undead's side with an instantly recognizable engraving. "Damian?" said Jaller uncertainly. The undead turned to Jaller and moved for his axe. "Don't try," said Jaller. "This knife that I'm holding right in front of your chest is lethal. Are you Damian, or did you just steal his pocket-watch?" The undead reached a hand upwards to his own head and scratched it in thought. "That name sounds familiar," he said. "I think I was a Damian at some point and most likely still am." The undead squinted at Jaller. "You look familiar, too," he said. "Just like that name. What are you and why do you want me?" "I'm your brother," said Jaller. "I've been searching for you ever since you went missing. Will you come back with me?" The undead shook his head. "I serve only the Lich King now," he said. "The Alliance of Lordaeron is my enemy, so I suppose you are too." Reaching for his axe, he said, "Goodbye, Jaller—" Before he could hit Jaller, Jaller hit him with a backhanded strike, knocking him out. Jaller looked sadly at the undead's unconscious form. "I wanted to bring you back, Damian," he said. "I can't do that, but at least I can leave you alive." Jaller came back to the group a few minutes later. "Well?" said Andris. "What was it?" "Just a rabid bear," said Jaller. "Don't worry, though. I dealt with it, so we're fine. See?" Jaller held up a bear paw as proof, although he knew inside that all that proved was that he'd gone out of his way to kill a random bear just to fool Andris. He'd have done anything to stop Andris from killing his brother or going onto high alert, though, even though his brother had gone insane. Jaller regretted not having gotten Andris onto high alert when the group encountered a veritable army of undead blocking the entrance to Andorhal a couple of days later. "It's the undead!" shouted Andris. "They've taken Andorhal! Charge, fellows! The Scarlet Crusade encampment looks to be over there!" As the group started charging, Jaller grabbed Brack. "You're a mage, aren't you?" said Jaller. "I'm completely useless in combat here, like you've seen, so can you give me a portal back to New Stormwind?" Brack panicked and made the fastest portal Jaller had ever seen. "Just go already and stop hindering me!" he said, shoving Jaller through the portal. Jaller never found out what happened to Brack, Andris, and the others. He wasn't even sure if he cared to know. His life went into a spiral of emptiness for years, until the day he looked out the window in the morning and heard Marshal McBride rallying citizens right outside Jaller's window in Northshire, where he'd been staying. "We need your help, citizens!" the Marshal was saying. "The Blackrock orcs have breached Northshire Valley's mountains, and only your help in this time of peril will save us! Take arms, good people, and help us live to see another day!" "Sure, I can help," Jaller muttered under his breath. "I was good at not getting noticed back then. And besides, I've got nothing to lose any more." Category:Stories